


Serendipity

by jeanqueerschstein



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Genderqueer Character, M/M, Other, gender issues will come up insofar as they are relevant but they aren't central to the plot, marco is dmab genderqueer, this is mostly a cute university au, unrated for now because there will be sex later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-05 12:23:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeanqueerschstein/pseuds/jeanqueerschstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Serendipity: the accident of finding something good or useful while not specifically searching for it.</p><p>Marco Bodt would always remember the moment they first laid eyes on Jean Kirschstein.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Do you think about me when you're all alone?

Marco Bodt would always remember the moment they first laid eyes on Jean Kirschstein.

Admittedly, so would most of the other people in the cafeteria that warm September afternoon. Marco had been sitting alone – by choice, rather than necessity, they’d hasten to add – attempting to read through the multitude of papers strewn across the surface of the table. The words had started to blur together on the page, the unfortunate consequence of too much caffeine and too little sleep, and their attention was already wandering when a commotion nearby prompted them to look up, dark eyebrows rising involuntarily. Students were scurrying around the long tables, hoisting heavy rucksacks over protesting shoulders as they made a wide berth around the cause of the noise; namely, Marco noted, two boys at the door, who seemed only a handful of overly harsh words away from exchanging blows. Marco watched the increasingly heated scene with muted interest and concern, twirling a pen unthinkingly between their fingers as their work lay ignored in front of them.

“Yeah, well _fuck_ you, Kirschstein!” The vitriolic words, spat out angrily by the shorter of the two boys, were loud enough to resonate through the entire cafeteria, and Marco bit their lip anxiously, half-tempted to intervene. Sure enough, this was apparently the straw that broke the camel’s back; the other boy snarled and made to advance towards his opponent, shoulders straightening as he altered his stance and clenched his fists into tight balls at his sides.

Marco sighed quietly, watching as the situation threatened to escalate into a physical fight, then dropped their pen onto the table with a quiet curse, throwing caution to the wind as they rose from their seat. They crossed the few feet to the door in a couple of steps and shot a hand out to grip the boy’s wrist tightly, catching it just as he drew it back to throw the first punch. With an outraged noise at finding himself restrained, the stranger whirled around, his eyes focusing on the one who held him back, gaze confused and angry. “What the fuck, let me go!”

Marco smiled, their expression friendly – even, perhaps, mildly apologetic – but didn’t release the boy’s arm. They were looking to break up the fight, sure, but would rather avoid getting punched for their trouble. “I don’t think that would be the best idea, really. The university doesn’t tend to look too fondly on this sort of thing happening on campus.” Behind them, the other boy was taking advantage of Marco’s intervention to edge slowly towards the door, hastened on by the scowling dark-haired girl at his side.

Still held captive, the boy stared at him, eyebrows raised in disbelief. His thin-lipped mouth opened slightly, as if he wanted to speak, but the words seemed to catch and die in his throat. The room was slowly growing louder around them as the students who’d paused their conversations to watch the argument turned back to their lunches and resumed chatting to their friends, bar a select few who were still eagerly staring as if hoping for a continuation of the fight, but Marco resolutely stayed put, gazing amicably down at the boy in front of them. He was an inch or so shorter than Marco, glaring up fiercely underneath narrowed eyebrows, but no less visually arresting for his smaller stature; his features were sharp, hair shaved at the sides into an intimidating undercut, and Marco noted with some interest the numerous piercings in both ears as they waited for the boy to calm himself down enough to speak.

“And who the fuck are you?!” _So much for that_.

Disregarding the boy’s abrasive tone, Marco glanced sheepishly down at him and smiled disarmingly, hoping to seem unthreatening enough to calm the boy’s unbridled aggression. “Sorry, rude of me not to introduce myself, I’m Marco. You?”

“Are you always this fucking weird?” The boy’s brows knit together in confusion, ignoring Marco’s question. He appeared genuinely bewildered, his face still wearing a harsh frown that Marco was beginning to suspect was his default expression, but he no longer seemed particularly angry. “Like … friendly and shit.”

Caught off guard, Marco laughed, rich and full, their eyes crinkling at the corners. “Ok, let’s try that again, I’m messing this up.” Finally releasing the boy’s wrist, they extended their right hand towards him, finding themself surprisingly charmed by the boy’s volatile attitude. “Marco Bodt, first year English.” With a rueful smile at the boy’s nonplussed expression, they winked cheerily and added, “Professional interrupter of fights.”

The boy shook his head slowly, still taken aback. He took the proffered hand anyway, seeming somewhat mollified, as he stared questioningly into Marco’s warm brown eyes. “Um, I’m Jean. Kirschstein. I, uh, I do Maths.”

Marco raised an eyebrow, considering. “Huh, I was always terrible with numbers. Can’t help but be impressed when I meet people who aren’t.” They grinned self-deprecatingly, hoping to put the boy at ease, and for the first time received a vague semblance of a smile in return. It was only small, a tiny quirk of his lips, but the sight of it caused Marco to exhale in relief. _Probably not going to get punched in the face. Ok, good._ Taking a step backwards and glancing around, Marco realised that they were both still standing in the way of the door, to the annoyance of several students being forced to walk in an unnecessary circle around the pair. On a whim, they looked back at Jean, a sudden wave of shyness causing them to stutter over their words. “Uh, hey, we’re in the way and I haven’t finished my lunch yet, would you like to come and sit with me?”

Jean shrugged but followed obligingly, and Marco couldn’t help but smile to themself. It was just a soft and fleeting upturn of their lips, but Jean must’ve caught it, because his eyes lingered on Marco’s mouth for a second too long as he took a seat at the table. Catching Marco’s eye, his cheeks reddened slightly, but he didn’t say anything.

 _Was he checking me out?_ Marco briefly pondered the possibility, uncertain, and silence reigned for a minute until they noticed Jean looking at them with an air of moody nervousness, his thin eyebrows slightly narrowed. _Probably not_. Dragging their thoughts back to reality, Marco winked conspiratorially and leaned towards Jean in an ostentatious show of discretion, hoping to mask the brief moment of insecurity that still had them feeling slightly on edge. “So, d’you want to tell me what that fight was about?”

Jean groaned loudly, simultaneously rolling his eyes and flopping back in his seat, awkwardness effectively dispelled. Spotting Marco’s amused smirk, he scowled disapprovingly, but replied nonetheless. “We went to school together, all through secondary. Me and Eren, I mean. He’s a total _douchebag_ , you have no idea.”

“Any particular reason? You can’t leave it there, now I’m intrigued.” Marco’s eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth, their tone striking a balance between gentle teasing and sincere interest, and they propped their chin on a slender-boned hand, mildly surprised at how much they genuinely wanted to hear Jean talk. The boy paused, then sighed grudgingly and continued.

“It’s a long story, I guess. We’ve never been friends. I dunno, he’s hated me ever since I hit on his sister this one time –”

Students at nearby tables turned at the sudden eruption of noise as Marco started laughing despite themself over Jean’s indignant cries of “It was _once_! I was fourteen!”

“Ok, ok, I believe you.” Marco bit their lip to try and stifle their amusement, but knew that it probably remained written across their face. Jean looked unimpressed, his cheeks an impressive shade of scarlet, and flicked a napkin across the table at them. “Shut up, I don’t even know why I’m still here.”

Marco grinned, picking up the napkin and absent-mindedly twisting it between their fingers. _I don’t know either but I’m glad you are_. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

Jean just shrugged in response, idly pushing a hand through his pale blond hair and examining the surface of the table. Marco’s eyes involuntarily tracked the gesture, Jean’s long fingers moving with a certain elegant grace that he seemed to be largely unaware of, before shifting slightly in their seat and clearing their throat awkwardly, not wanting to be caught staring. “So, um, which dorm are you in?”

“Sina.” Jean looked up, fixing Marco with his intriguing hazel eyes. “And you?”

Marco tipped their head left, indicating the direction of their building. “Rose. I live with someone who does Maths, actually, he’s a second year though. You know Reiner Braun?”

“Big scary blond guy? Yup.” Jean nodded, shooting Marco a quick, sharp grin. Marco smiled back, a little cautious, taken aback by the sudden frisson of attraction that coursed through their body at the expression. _Smiling definitely suited Jean._

“Yeah, that’s the one. I like him, he’s a good housemate, _way_ better than the one I had last year. That guy used to bring people back, like, every night, it was a total nightmare.”

Jean half-smiled absently, then quirked a curious eyebrow. “Wait, I thought you said you were a first year?”

“Um, yeah, I am.” Marco hesitated, looking down at their hands as they continued ruefully, wondering how to phrase it delicately without revealing too much. “I had to retake my first year. I, uh… had some personal issues the first time round.”

“Huh, must’ve been some heavy shit,” Jean mused aloud, seeming otherwise unconcerned. Marco released a breath they’d been unaware they were even holding, too used to probing questions and judgemental stares, and grinned. “Yeah, it kinda was.”

They sat in silence for a minute, oddly comfortable, until the seats around them began to empty, students wearily readying themselves for afternoon lectures. Marco checked their watch, then sighed, languorously getting to their feet and lifting their bag onto one broad shoulder. “I should get going. I’ll see you around though, yeah?”

Jean looked up, stiffening almost imperceptibly in his seat at Marco’s words. “Um, yeah, sure.”

Marco raised one hand in an amicable parting gesture, then hesitated, reluctant to leave. Before they were truly conscious of it, their mouth was opening, and an invitation was spilling out hastily. “There’s going to be a party in my dorm this Friday, you wanna come?”

A brief expression of surprise settled over Jean’s sharp features. He opened his mouth, looking wary, but Marco butted in before he could decline, suddenly taken over by the desire to cement this strange potential friendship. “Go on, it’d be nice to see you there.”

Jean snapped his mouth shut, then smiled cautiously, the wary expression not quite leaving his eyes. “Ok, I’ll come.”

Marco’s heart leapt in their chest, just a little bit, but enough to let them know they were already heading for trouble.

*****

That evening, Marco returned back to their dorm, laden down with homework but still with a spring in their step over their lunchtime encounter. It was cold, the autumn temperature drop beginning to make itself known, but they barely took any notice, only burrowing slightly deeper into their scarf as they hurried over to their building.

Once inside, they toed their shoes off and wriggled out of their coat, throwing it in the vague direction of the closet, before collapsing down onto their bed with a muffled groan, receiving a faceful of crumpled duvet as a consequence but not caring enough to move. Hearing a distant snort, they turned their face to see their housemate peering at them from the kitchen with an expression of barely concealed amusement. “You ok there, Marco?”

“Shut up, Reiner, I’m fine.” Marco spoke into their pillow, unable to suppress a mildly embarrassed smile, knowing that their freckled cheeks would already be traitorously showing the signs of a blush.

“So what happened to you today, then?” Reiner came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dishtowel as he leant up against the doorframe, looking down at Marco with an irrepressible twinkle in his deep blue eyes.

Marco rolled over onto their back with a sigh, staring unseeingly up at the ceiling as they answered, the image of the boy they’d met earlier that day still swimming at the forefront of their mind. “I met this guy at lunch; he’s on your course, actually.”

It certainly wasn’t unusual for Marco to meet people. Their friendly, outgoing nature and expressive smile drew people to them, and always had. It was, however, rare for them to be so affected, and they saw Reiner stand up slightly straighter out of the corner of their eye, recognising the sincerity of Marco’s tone. They were both aware of the walls Marco had had to erect around themself, out of necessity and self-preservation.

“Oh?” The word was carefully enunciated, a subtle unvoiced innuendo present in Reiner’s tone.

“It’s not like that, Reiner, I barely know the guy. He’s just… interesting. That’s all.” Marco turned their head, meeting Reiner’s curious gaze with impassioned brown eyes. “For now, anyway.”

Reiner grinned widely in response, flicking the dishtowel in Marco’s direction. “Yeah, I know what that means. What’s his name?”

“Jean.”

“Kirschstein?” There was surprise in the way Reiner uttered the name, but no hint of mockery or judgement.

“Yeah.” Marco smiled slightly, privately, at the memory. “He was fighting in the cafeteria. I broke it up, we talked.”

Reiner smirked, leaning down to ruffle Marco’s short dark hair. “I’m not surprised. From what I’ve seen of him, he’s always been the aggressive type. I don’t know him that well though, so…” He broke off, shrugging lightly. “This could be good for you, Marco.”

“I know. I invited him to the party on Friday.” Marco peered up at Reiner, watching for his response.

“Probably not a bad idea.” Reiner sat on the bed next to Marco, leaning up against them and drumming a rough beat on their knee with the tips of his fingers. “Bertholdt’s coming too, I think.”

Marco sat up eagerly, noting the slight blush arising on Reiner’s cheeks and the forced casualness of his words. “Oh, really? How’s it going between you two?”

Reiner shrugged, staring determinedly at a fixed point on the opposite wall. “Well.” He glanced back at Marco, a hint of a smile threatening to appear at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah. It’s going really well. I think I might ask him out soon.”

Marco grinned excitedly, affectionately pillowing their head on Reiner’s shoulder. “I’m really happy for you.”

“I know. You’re really gay.”

Marco laughed, collapsing backwards onto their bed and pulling the pillow back over their face. “Yeah, I know.”

*****

Friday night couldn’t have come any quicker for Marco, the arrival of the weekend signifying a short break from the pile of essays that had been causing an unshakeable headache to gradually build up behind their eyes over the course of the past week. As such, by the time most people arrived for the party, Marco was already pleasantly tipsy, having taken advantage of an early end to the day’s lectures to sit and relax with their housemate and a six-pack of beer.

A couple of dozen people were crammed into the common room of their building, sprawled over various items of furniture, most with drinks in their hands as they talked enthusiastically. Marco sat alone in a battered old armchair that had been there a good deal longer than any of the students assembled around it, watching their friends with a vague smile, happy to lean back and let the buzz of chatter flow over them. Reiner was talking to Bertholdt in the corner, leaning in with a smitten smile to hear the dark-haired boy’s words, and Marco grinned at them, catching Bertholdt’s eye for a brief second and winking teasingly. Ymir and Christa were intertwined near Marco’s feet, involved in some kind of debate with Connie and Sasha over by the door. Marco was well-liked among the group, having known the majority of them since their first year of university, and every few minutes one of the foursome would turn to them for their opinion on something before going back to their conversation.

“Yo, Marco, I heard you _like_ someone.” _Occasionally, however, the interjections were a little less welcome_. Marco, always quick to blush, felt their cheeks heat, and narrowed their eyes down at Ymir, who’d turned away from the discussion she’d been having to waggle her eyebrows salaciously up at them. Marco sighed, more than a little melodramatic. “It’s not like that, Ymir, and who told you?”

Ymir grinned, her dark eyes lighting up with amusement. “Bertholdt.”

Marco rolled their eyes and groaned internally, resolving to stop telling Reiner anything, ever. “I’m not talking about it, shut up.”

“You’re so cute. A little birdy told me he might be coming along tonight.” Marco winced, their blush deepening when Connie interjected with “More like a little Bertie, ha,” from the other side of the room. Grabbing a cushion from the armchair, they lobbed it across the room at Connie, who ducked with a snort. “What, is _everyone_ getting involved in my business now?”

“Hey, lay off Marco, guys.” Christa’s voice was gentle, and she darted a glimpse at Marco through her hair. “We just want you to be happy, you know that, right?”

Marco felt a pang deep in their chest, a strange mix of guilt and affection, remembering how all their friends had been there for them the previous year. How they continued to be supportive even after they’d moved on to second year, leaving Marco behind.

Marco’s expression softened, and they smiled down at Christa, reaching out a hand to tuck her overlong blonde fringe back behind her ear. “I know, it’s ok. I don’t really mind.”

Ymir snorted, although Marco could see the sincere affection in her dark eyes when they looked back down at her. “You’re both way too sweet for me, I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

Marco raised an eyebrow at that, tilting their head mutely towards where Ymir had twined her fingers around Christa’s, and smiled at the light blush appearing on Christa’s pale cheeks. “Whatever, Ymir, I’m going to get another drink.”

True to their word, Marco shifted, getting to their feet and wandering towards the kitchen, suppressing the urge to cuff Ymir around the back of the head as they went. They weaved their way around people clustered on the floor, smiling briefly at a couple of their friends, before taking refuge in the relative quiet of the next room.

Retrieving a bottle of beer from the fridge, they glanced at the clock; it was ticking quietly yet irrevocably towards 10pm, and Marco found their thoughts, perhaps inevitably, turning towards Jean. They hadn’t spoken since their meeting earlier that week, and Marco wondered for a brief second whether Jean had changed his mind. They certainly wouldn’t be surprised if that turned out to be the case; after all, they’d only had one moderately brief conversation, and Jean had appeared more than a little hesitant when Marco extended the invitation. No, Marco wouldn’t be surprised if Jean didn’t show, but they couldn’t deny the brief flash of disappointment that coiled in the pit of their belly at the thought.

Marco bit their lip, lost in thought. Consequently, they almost didn’t hear when kitchen door opened behind them and a cautious voice spoke out.  “Marco? Reiner said you were in here…”

Marco looked up, and there was Jean, leaning casually against the doorframe. They couldn’t quite stop the relieved smile that blossomed across their face in response. “Hey, I didn’t know if you were going to come.” Their breathing faltered a little, heartbeat speeding up in their chest as they took in the sight of Jean in front of them, dressed simply in a black hoodie and jeans, and they resolved internally to slow down their alcohol intake, surprised by the strength of their own reaction.

“Said I would, didn’t I?” Jean’s words were terse, but he looked quietly pleased, as though he hadn’t been sure if he would receive such a happy welcome.

Marco grinned, warmth settling in their chest, as they bent back into the fridge to pick up a second bottle. “Drink?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Jean reached out to take it from their hand, and there was a brief moment of contact as their fingertips touched. Marco suppressed the shiver the feeling elicited, drawing their hands back to their sides and glancing shyly down at their own bottle. “How have you been?”

“Good.” Jean’s response was automatic, unthinking, until he caught himself and smiled self-consciously. “Stressed. A lot of work due already, I didn’t realise it would be this intense.”

Marco smiled sympathetically, noting for the first time the dark smudges of tiredness beneath Jean’s eyes. “Yeah, I know that feeling. I don’t think I’ve slept properly in _years_.”

“How old are you, anyway?” Jean reddened slightly at the blurted-out question, like he hadn’t quite meant to say it aloud. “Sorry, that was random.”

“I turned 20 a few months ago,” Marco offered, raising an inquisitive eyebrow and tilting their bottle towards Jean. “How about you?”

“I’ll be 19 in April.”

Marco nodded, considering, then beckoned towards the doorway. “Hey, come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone. It would be kind of mean if I invited you to a party then kept you shut up in the kitchen all night.” _Tempting, though_.

With a brief nod of acquiescence, Jean downed half his drink in one smooth swallow then shoved his hands indelicately into the pockets of his worn hoodie, pulling the material tight over his chest. Marco’s gaze stuck for a brief second before they felt themself blushing and turned away, ducking their head embarrassedly as they led Jean through the doorway.

In the common room, Reiner and Bertholdt were nowhere to be seen, and Marco suppressed a fond smile, leading Jean across the room to the armchair that was, miraculously, still unoccupied. “Sit.”

Jean flopped into the chair, long limbs sprawling out in front of him, and Marco flicked their eyes downward to avoid looking at the tight stretch of his jeans across his leanly muscled thighs. “Hey, shift up a bit.” Jean huffed a little in mock-exasperation but moved slightly to his right, allowing Marco to perch cautiously on the arm of the chair, taking care to stop their own limbs from brushing against Jean’s. On the floor, Ymir and Christa had paused their conversation and were glancing up at them, Christa with a kind smile and Ymir with an archly raised eyebrow. Marco caught Ymir’s eye and tried their best to subtly convey a warning through muted glares, but she simply smirked and flicked them on the knee in response. “You guys having fun?”

“Tons.” Marco’s tone was lightly mocking, but the smile on their face belied their true feelings. “Jean, this is Ymir. The little blonde one is Christa.”

Jean nodded, extending a cordial hand to each in turn. Ymir looked at him appraisingly as she shook his hand, a half-smile the only departure from her usual sardonic expression. Marco caught Jean’s wince out of the corner of their eye and nudged Ymir in the ribs with a foot, knowing she was probably exerting rather more force than was necessary. “Ymir, be nice.”

“Oi, what’re you implying? I’m lovely.”

Marco began to raise a dubious eyebrow, but their name being said loudly across the room suddenly caught their attention. “Hey, where’s Marco?”

They turned their head towards the sound, recognising Reiner’s voice, and went to call out in greeting, until a second voice, belonging to a first year Marco vaguely knew, cut in. “Yeah, he’s just over there, he came in a minute ago…”

The rest of his words, if he continued talking, were lost to Marco.

They felt the _wrongness_ of it like a hook tugging deep in their guts, before they’d even truly registered the words. Their hands curled reflexively into fists, balling tightly against their lap, and they leant forwards involuntarily, feeling as if all the air had been sucked out of their lungs, like someone had wrapped a hand around their neck and _squeezed_. They were barely aware of anyone around them until Reiner appeared at their side, laying a large hand flat against their back and murmuring urgently into their ear, “Breathe, Marco, just breathe, it’s ok, you’ll be ok.”

Dimly, they were aware of Ymir furiously berating the unfortunate first year – “Marco doesn’t _use_ male pronouns, you _know_ that, _everyone in this building_ knows that!” – and Christa looking up at them anxiously, but they couldn’t respond, couldn’t do anything except gasp hopelessly for breath like a fish on dry land. Wordlessly, they pushed out with one arm, knocking Reiner away, and stood unsteadily, choking out something about needing space before staggering for the door.

The fresh air outside came as a blessed relief and Marco kept walking, pacing up and down with little regard to where they were going, trying to shake the horrible rolling queasiness roiling in their stomach, hands still clenched so tight their fingernails were beginning to leave red crescent-shaped marks on the soft flesh of their palms. Eventually, they sat down heavily on the pavement nearby, focussing on steadying their breathing and calming themselves down. Reiner’s words ran through their head on a loop, a soothing mantra of _breathe, it’s ok, just breathe_. Slowly, over a period of what felt like years but couldn’t have been more than five minutes, Marco’s heart stopped pounding quite so heavily in their chest, and they breathed in shakily, becoming steadily more aware of the burning flush on their cheeks and the tremor causing their hands to shake uncontrollably by their sides. _Fuck. That hasn’t happened in a while_.

The misgendering had been a constant worry at the beginning of their first year, but since Marco had come out to Reiner, and, consequently, the rest of their friendship group, the incidences had decreased dramatically. The panic attacks had followed suit. They hadn’t disappeared completely – Marco didn’t think they ever would – and neither had the bouts of crippling dysphoria that usually precipitated or succeeded them, but their irregularity at least was a relief.

Marco pressed a trembling hand to their cheek, feeling the heat beneath their palm, and winced to think of the scene undoubtedly occurring back inside the dorm building. It was never their intention to cause a commotion; in fact, they usually tried their hardest to avoid them, particularly around issues as sensitive to them as these. They exhaled roughly and wrapped their arms around themself, goosebumps beginning to show on their lightly freckled skin. The sun had long since set, and there was a pronounced chill in the air; Marco, dressed simply in a long-sleeved cotton t-shirt and jeans, couldn’t help but shiver. Even so, there were few things they wanted to do less in that moment than walk back into the building they’d just left.

All of a sudden, there was a soft noise behind them, and Marco turned their head slightly. They were dimly surprised to see Jean standing there; for the first time since they had met in the cafeteria, Jean had been utterly cast from their mind. Marco glanced at him wordlessly through long eyelashes, waiting for recrimination, rejection, _anything_ , but Jean just stood there, looking down at Marco curiously.

After a few seconds of silence, Marco turned back, staring down at the pavement and mentally preparing themselves for the questions they were sure were about to be asked, and weren’t particularly in the mood to answer. When a question finally came, however, it was quiet, unsure, floating in the air like it didn’t know if it had any right to be there at all. “Are you ok?”

Marco smiled listlessly despite themselves, their breathing still unsteady. “No, not really. Not yet. But I will be.”

There was the hushed sound of hesitant footsteps on grass as Jean approached. “Do you mind if I sit? I can leave, if you’d rather…”

Marco shrugged. “Go ahead.”

They were expecting the rush of air and sprawling limbs as Jean dropped gracelessly to the pavement next to him, but the warm pressure of soft material over their shoulders came as a surprise. “Jean, what –”

“I, um. Brought you my scarf. You didn’t take anything with you when you left, I thought you’d be cold.” Jean’s tone was a little gruff, Marco assumed out of mild embarrassment, and they smiled again, small but genuine, as they reached up to twine the ends of the scarf around their fingers. “Thank you.”

“It’s ok.” They sat in silence for a while, until Marco could feel themself relaxing in the boy’s presence, their heart finally beating at a normal pace. Eventually, they sighed, glancing over to where Jean was sitting patiently, and murmured, “I always liked this time of year best. The stars always seem brighter, somehow.”

Jean looked up to the sky, eyes widening slightly as if in surprise at Marco’s words. “I can’t say I’ve ever noticed.”

Marco leant back on their elbows, legs stretched out in the road and head tipping backwards as they stared up into the night sky. “I used to sit outside at night a lot when I was just a kid. I don’t know, it’s silly, I just... It always made me feel less alone.”

Jean huffed a short sound, a quick exhale of air that sounded almost like a laugh. “Yeah, that’s weird. But I get it, I guess.”

Marco shut their eyes, enjoying the feel of the cool night air as it whispered through the trees around them. They felt like they were slowly coming back to themself, feeling rooted once again in their own body, and smiled slowly at nothing in particular. After a minute, they opened their eyes again, tipping their head wordlessly to the side to look at Jean, who was staring back with an odd look in his translucent eyes. There was a breeze, Marco could feel it ruffling strands of their short hair, but all of a sudden the air between them seemed still, completely silent, as they met one another’s gaze.

“You can ask, you know. If you want to.” Marco’s words were quiet, slightly hesitant, but sincere nonetheless. They felt bizarrely comfortable, sitting on the hard pavement outside, in the cold, looking up at the stars with a boy they barely knew.

Jean frowned slightly, contemplative. He seemed to be mulling his words over carefully in his mind before letting them tumble out into the cold night air, an impulse Marco assumed didn’t come naturally to him, but was grateful for. Eventually, Jean spoke, his eyes sliding away from Marco to rest on a patch of loose gravel on the tarmacked road. “I just… I don’t have much experience with this sort of thing, I guess. Figure it’s not really my place to talk.”

Marco tilted their head towards Jean, acquiescent. “Perhaps not.” They paused for a second, feeling like there was something that needed to be said, the words sticking uncomfortably in their throat and lingering like a bad taste.

Eventually, they let out a harsh exhale of air and sat forward, crossing their arms protectively around their torso. “Jean, this is… This isn’t something that can just be ignored, you know? It’s important, it’s fundamental. I just – I just need to know if you’re comfortable with that, because I can’t deal with being tolerated, with being told my identity doesn’t matter just so people can feel at ease around me and ignore that I’m not _like them_.” The last words came out in a rush, and Marco swiped a hand over the face embarrassedly, feeling the hot prick of unexpected tears at the back of their throat and swallowing tightly around them.

Jean looked taken aback for a second, then extended a tentative hand and pressed it somewhat awkwardly against Marco’s shoulder. “Marco, I… Of course it matters, who you _are_ matters. You matter.” He finished softly, his hand travelling slowly up the curve of Marco’s back to rest against his nape. The words sounded odd in his mouth, clumsy, like he wasn’t quite used to the feel of kindness against his tongue, but no less honest for that, and Marco leant back slightly into the touch.

They stayed silent for a second, until Marco sniffed hard and pushed their hair back from their face. Jean seemed to take the gesture as permission to speak, removing his hand from Marco’s back and twining his own long fingers together. “What – I mean, how did you know?”

Marco bit their lip, pondering. “I always hated being called a boy.” They laughed quietly to themself, more than a hint of bitterness in their tone. “It got worse as I got older, but it was almost as simple as that, in the end. I’m not a boy. I just don’t know what I am. Genderqueer, if people ask, but…” They tailed off with a short shrug.

Jean nodded slowly, his face unreadable. “Is this why you had to repeat a year?”

 Marco paused, taken aback by the question. They moved towards Jean, shifting uncomfortably against the rough surface of the pavement, turning to face him with a self-deprecating quirk of their lips. “Not really. I, um. I have depression. It got particularly bad last year.” Noticing the apologetic expression on Jean’s face, they held up a pre-emptive hand. “No, don’t worry about it, I don’t mind you asking. The gender thing was a part of it, I guess. So was moving away from home, having to make new friends, that sort of thing.”

“But you’re always so outgoing–” Jean cut himself off, a blush rapidly descending over his sharp features. “Shit, I’m sorry, that was a really stupid thing to say.”

Marco just shrugged in response. “Most people don’t really believe it. The image doesn’t match my personality, I guess.” They snorted derisively, absent-mindedly fiddling with a loose strand on their t-shirt, before continuing bluntly. “It was horrible. I had no motivation for anything, I barely went to any of my classes, I didn’t even try talking to my friends for weeks on end. It felt… I dunno, it felt like a part of me was missing. Like I was only half there.”

“I’m sorry.” Jean’s voice was soft, and Marco looked back at him with a tiny smile and a wistful glint in their gentle eyes. “It’s ok. It is what it is, I guess. I haven’t had a really bad episode since then.” Their smile brightened slightly as their gaze turned back towards the dorm building. “I have an excellent support network.”

Jean smiled back, but there was a hint of something dark, something painful, in the clear depths of his hazel eyes. “It’s shitty of me, but I’m kind of jealous, you know.” Marco arched an eyebrow questioningly, truly surprised by his words. “I’ve never really had friends. Not close ones, anyway, not friends like you have.”

Understanding dawned, and Marco nodded silently, considering. Instinctively, they knew that Jean would shut down at any sign of pity, so, acting on impulse, they did the only thing they could possibly think of to lighten the mood. Mustering a crooked grin, they slung an arm around Jean’s shoulders and ruffled his hair, bursting into outright laughter at the outraged squawk their actions elicited. Jean scowled at them, pouting melodramatically, but didn’t shrug their arm off, instead moving almost imperceptibly closer to the warmth of Marco’s body. Still smiling softly, Marco tightened their arm reflexively around Jean’s shoulders.

Above them, the stars carried on twinkling resolutely, and the gentle breeze blew through the trees around them like a soothing murmur.

*****

It was late when they finally returned to Marco’s dorm. They had spent a long time just sitting quietly in each other’s presence, enjoying the companionable peace, only moving when the scarf around Marco’s neck was no longer enough to stop them from shivering in the increasingly cold night air. The atmosphere between them had unmistakeably changed; Marco’s body was thrumming with a bizarre electric tension that they couldn’t quite find the words to identify, stilling all their attempts at conversation before the words could even make their way out of their mouth.

As they neared the door, Marco began to feel strangely apprehensive, and they fumbled slightly with their keys before managing to fit the correct one in the lock. Jean, scuffing his feet against the doorstep awkwardly, spoke up just as Marco pushed the door open.

“Marco, um… I’m sorry for making you talk about all that. For bringing it all up. That probably wasn’t the best time to be asking all those questions.” Marco looked back, eyebrows rising involuntarily, but Jean wouldn’t catch their eye, blushing as he stared furtively at the ground.

“You didn’t make me.” It was Marco’s turn to feel awkward, as they tried to find the right words to express the sentiment. “I wanted to tell you. Better sooner than later, I guess.”

“Still.” Jean’s voice was soft, his tone a little unsure. “I didn’t mean to pressure you into spilling all your secrets. Sorry.”

“Marco, is that you?” Sasha popped her head out of the living-room, interrupting their conversation, concern in her sympathetic eyes as she peered at Marco and Jean.

“Yeah,” Marco replied needlessly. They felt antsy, hands fidgeting by their sides, but continued down the corridor nonetheless. Fortunately, most of the party’s attendees seemed to have left, or gone upstairs to bed; the living-room held only Reiner, Bertholdt, Connie, Sasha, Ymir, Christa, a blonde girl Marco knew simply as Annie, and the first-year who’d misgendered Marco earlier in the evening. He looked up as Marco entered, pasty-faced and evidently contrite, a look of fear imprinted indelibly on his features. _Probably a result of Ymir glaring from across the room_ , thought Marco with more than a hint of fondness for their friend.

“Hey, um, Marco, I’m really sorry for earlier, it was a total accident, I’m so, _so_ sorry.” Marco paused by the door as the boy started babbling nervously, his eyes wide and sincere, and held up a hand, cutting him off mid-apology with a small smile that felt more like a grimace. “It’s ok, I know you didn’t mean it. It happens.”

“Still, I’m really fucking sorry…” The boy broke off, rubbing his face self-consciously with both hands. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Marco nodded, trying to maintain the kindly expression on their face. “I appreciate that. Thank you.”

The boy slumped, his posture simultaneously relieved and grateful. “Thanks.” He smiled somewhat weakly, getting to his feet and shoving his hands awkwardly into his pockets. “I’ll be off now, I… I’m sorry for ruining your night. I’ll see you around.” He made to wave at everyone assembled in the room, a brief aborted gesture, then shot out of the room at a pace slightly too quick to be casual, making it out of the door at a record speed.

“Idiot,” Ymir snorted, as soon as the door had shut and the boy’s footsteps could be heard receding away from the house.

“Hey, he’s not all bad, at least he stayed to apologise. That was pretty decent of him.” Marco smiled wearily at their friends, glad for their support as they collapsed onto the sofa. Jean remained standing by the door, checking the mobile phone that had materialised in his hand at some point, before flicking a glance in Marco’s direction. “Uh, yeah, I’m probably gonna bail out too, I have somewhere to be tomorrow morning.”

Marco yawned, acquiescing with a tilt of their head. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

Jean smiled briefly, suddenly a lot more cocksure than he had been in the cafeteria only a few short days previously. “Yeah, you will. Bye, guys.” He pulled the hood of his jacket over his head in one smooth gesture and backed out of the room, only looking away from Marco at the last second, it seemed.

The room murmured a general acknowledgement of his departure, all seeming about ready to fall asleep. Marco took a moment to survey their friends, collapsed on the floor with their limbs comfortably intertwined. Connie was slowly falling asleep on Sasha’s stomach, his legs tangled up with Ymir’s, whose own arm was around Christa’s slender shoulders. Bertholdt and Reiner were leaning into one another intimately, fingers entwined against Reiner’s burly thigh. Only Annie sat alone, a bored look on her face as she leaned up against the wall, tapping out a rapid rhythm on her thigh with delicate fingers and downing a gulp of neat vodka every now and then from the half-empty bottle at her side.

Marco looked away from the heap of people, their back aching as they stretched languorously, before getting to their feet, rising from the sofa and nudging Connie’s leg with a foot just to watch the boy startle awake. “Alright, I’m going to bed. I suggest you all do the same too, before you fall asleep on the carpet and regret it tomorrow.”

Grinning at the displeased expressions on their friends’ faces, Marco left the common room and staggered tiredly up the narrow flight of stairs, unwilling to wait before stripping their clothes off in preparation for bed. Their hands found the scarf loosely twined around their neck, and tightened momentarily around it, before unwinding it and scrunching it into a soft ball of fabric. Marco’s heart seemed to pound a little faster against their ribcage as they looked at it, remembering the brief touch of Jean’s hands as they placed the scarf around their neck. On a whim, they brought the material up to their face, already judging themself internally for what they were about to do, and inhaled deeply. Jean smelt nice, the slight tang of aftershave barely covering a deeper, more natural scent, and Marco shook their head ruefully as they pushed their bedroom door open and flopped bonelessly into bed. _I’m screwed. I am an idiot, and I am totally and utterly screwed._


	2. The things we used to do, we used to be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is even longer than the last one, I'm sorry. They'll probably either stop being so long soon, or be slower in coming, because I have about 7000 essays due once term starts.
> 
> As always, you can find me at cosett.es, comments are welcomed!

Waking up the next morning was, in a word, unpleasant. Marco’s intoxication had largely worn off by the conclusion of the previous night’s party; nevertheless, their head was pounding painfully and their mouth was uncomfortably dry when a dull buzzing noise by their ear roused them from a fitful sleep. Grumbling indignantly, they cracked one sleepy eye open and reached for their phone, cursing quietly when their wrist connected painfully with the corner of their wooden bedside table before they managed to clumsily grab hold of the offending device.

Collapsing back on the pillows with a yawn, they stretched leisurely, bringing the phone up to their face. The impassive numerals on the screen informed Marco that it was just before midday, and they rubbed at their eyes tiredly before opening the text that was continuing to flash at them insistently.

**Sasha: Hope you’re not feeling too rough today. Wanna meet for lunch?**

Marco lay in bed for a minute or so longer, contemplative. They had undoubtedly felt better, but their headache was nothing a shower and a couple of ibuprofen wouldn’t fix, and they knew themself well enough to recognise that a day spent alone cooped up in their bedroom would only leave them feeling listless and depressed by the end of the night. Their mind swiftly made up, they pushed themself up to a sitting position, ignoring the protesting ache from their body, and replied to Sasha’s text.

**Marco: I’m ok, and yeah, sure. When & where?**

Within five minutes, they’d sorted out arrangements to meet at a nearby café in an hour’s time. Chucking their phone down onto the mattress, Marco got to their feet, still a little unbalanced as their body struggled to fully wake up, and stumbled awkwardly to the shared bathroom. It was, luckily, empty, Reiner having already left for the day. Shutting the door behind them, Marco lifted their t-shirt over their head and tossed it into the nearby laundry basket, before leaning over the bathtub to turn on the shower, wincing slightly at the uncomfortable twinging of their aching muscles.

They removed their boxers, kicking them carelessly into the corner, as they waited for the water to heat up, staring vacantly at their reflection in the mirror above the sink. They quirked a small smile, pleased that the sight of their own face no longer made anxiety bubble up in their stomach as it had for so much of the previous year. Indeed, they were growing quite comfortable with the soft brown eyes that stared back at them, the light spattering of freckles over their cheeks, the way their dark hair tended to fall slightly in their face no matter what length it was. They looked down at their body with the vague sense of detachment they usually felt at seeing their flat chest and narrow hips, absent-mindedly eyeing the continuation of the freckles over their shoulders and the slight fuzz of body hair, bring a hand up to press gently against the sharp protrusion of their hip bones. After a couple of minutes, they ended their cursory examination, noting the goosebumps gradually appearing on their slender forearms, and headed into the shower, tipping their head back gratefully under the flow of hot water.

It only took them ten minutes to wash, scrubbing off the staleness of the previous night and rubbing the remnants of sleep from their eyes, although they lingered slightly longer than they had to simply out of enjoyment of the pounding of the water as it cascaded down their back. Once out, they wasted no time in getting dressed, shivering in the under-heated room as they pulled on a sweater and a fresh pair of jeans.

Picking up their phone from the bed, as well as their wallet and keys from the desk, they made to leave, toeing their shoes on without bothering to bend down and check that the laces were adequately tied. Marco had always disliked being late, preferring to leave with plenty of time to spare, a sometimes troublesome facet of their eager-to-please personality. They stepped towards the door, carefully dropping their belongings into the pockets of their jeans, but stopped in their tracks as a nagging impulse took hold of them. Before they could put much thought into their actions, they turned back and retrieved Jean’s scarf from where it had lain all night at the foot of their bed, wrapping it securely around their neck with a soft, wistful smile. Without further ado, they opened the door and let themself out into the brisk early afternoon air.

*****

Sasha, as ever, was bubbly and excitable, throwing her arms around Marco and pulling them into a tight hug as soon as she arrived at their pre-arranged meeting point. Marco embraced her back with an enthusiastic smile, lifting her off her feet for a brief second, before depositing her safely back on the floor with an exaggerated _ooft_ noise. Hearing it, Sasha smacked them lightly on the arm with a grin. “Shut up, I’m not _that_ heavy.”

Marco laughed, amused. “I never said you were.” They already felt lighter, happier, than they had upon waking up, the last remnants of their hangover finally dissipating. It was difficult not to feel good with Sasha; she was outgoing, and loud, but rarely irritating with it in the way that many people with the tendency to be brash occasionally are. She possessed that rare carefree, sunny quality that appeared somehow to brighten every situation, no matter how miserable it may be, and it was an aspect of her personality that Marco valued almost beyond words. They smiled down at her fondly, appreciating the shine of the September sunlight on her soft auburn hair, and beckoned towards the door of the café. “Let’s go inside, anyway, I’m freezing out here.”

Sasha tugged on the ends of Marco’s scarf teasingly but led the way nevertheless, waving a greeting at the girl behind the counter before turning back to Marco. “Hey, that’s Petra, she’s on my course! I’ll go get food, you find us somewhere to sit.”

Marco wandered off obligingly, more than content to leave Sasha in charge of ordering; as a culinary student, she usually knew what she was talking about when it came to food. They spotted a sofa in the corner and wandered towards it, dropping down onto the comfortable cushions and letting themself relax while Sasha chatted enthusiastically to her friend. As they waited, watching patiently, their thoughts turned once again to Jean.

Marco wasn’t about to deny the existence of their burgeoning crush, as insistent as it was; they were long past the stage where suppressing their own emotions and impulses came to them like second nature, and they silently thanked their old therapist for that as they mulled over their feelings. Had it not been for the events of the previous night, and the ease with which Marco had felt themself opening up to Jean, they would have chastised themself for projecting their own desires onto a near-stranger with no real knowledge of the person beneath. As it was, they recalled Jean’s feral smile, and how it had softened when he looked at Marco, his own quiet admission – _I’ve never really had friends_ – compounded by the way he’d listened carefully, not like he understood but like he truly and sincerely _wanted_ to understand, and Marco couldn’t bring themself to question the way their heart pounded erratically in their chest when they thought of Jean’s striking features, his oddly piercing eyes, the broadness of his shoulders in the black hoodie he’d been wearing, his long legs sprawled out on the ground when he sat next to Marco on the pavement.

Despite this, Marco still had no way of contacting him, and they frowned slightly, musing, drawing soft lines with their fingertips against the worn material of the sofa. They had no doubt they’d find him again easily; after all, they had Reiner as a mutual friend, if it came to that. Still, though…

Lost in daydreams, they didn’t notice Sasha approaching until she clicked her fingers in front of Marco’s eyes, startling them up and back into reality. “Marco, you awake?”

Marco shook their head, startled out of their own mind but still feeling somewhat dazed, and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Sasha smiled back sympathetically, sitting down on the sofa next to Marco and pressing the back of her hand to their forehead. “Hmm, you don’t feel warm. You look a little flushed, though.”

Inevitably, Marco blushed more, remembering the subject of their inner contemplation in the minutes before Sasha had interrupted, and she smirked knowingly at them. “You were having gay thoughts, weren’t you?”

Marco poked her in the ribs to hide their embarrassment, causing Sasha to squeal and writhe away from them. “Oh, shut up, like you weren’t just flirting with the waitress.”

Unexpectedly, Sasha’s own cheeks reddened at the comment, pushing her hair away from her face embarrassedly and dropping her voice to a hushed whisper. “Shit, was it that obvious?”

Marco raised their eyebrows, surprised. “No, I was just kidding, I wasn’t really paying attention.” They paused, processing this new information, then added, “I thought you were getting with Connie, actually.”

Sasha shrugged, still looking a little red in the face, but she wasn’t defensive when she answered Marco’s unasked question. “We’re kind of doing the friends with benefits thing at the moment, I guess. I’m not opposed to having a relationship with him, it’s just… I dunno. We’ll see how it goes.” She waggled her eyebrows at Marco, an irrepressible glint in her wide eyes, and Marco tutted teasingly, shaking their head in mock disapproval.

“ _Anyway_ , Marco, it’s not like you’re a paragon of virtue, stop trying to derail the conversation.” Sasha pointed a slim finger at them, eyes narrowing like she was staring down the barrel of an imaginary gun.

“There was no conversation. I was deflecting your attempts at having one.” Marco kept their tone mild, internally amused at Sasha’s frustrated huff as she flopped back against the sofa cushions. “ _Fine_ , Marco, we don’t have to talk about it.”

Despite Sasha’s exasperated tone of voice, Marco knew she wasn’t truly irritated by their reticence. She always liked to be in the loop when it came to her friends’ private lives, but never to the extent of willingly making them uncomfortable; for someone so outspoken, she was unusually sensitive to when people needed space, and Marco was grateful.

Still, they also weren’t opposed to the idea of talking about Jean, keeping their feelings to themselves more out of a desire to needle Sasha than out of any real need for discretion, and they capitulated with a slow smile. “Ok, yeah, I’m pretty sure I have a crush on him.”

Sasha sat back up eagerly, flipping her fringe out of her face in one smooth motion. “No shit, Sherlock. You were _adorable_ last night. Tell, tell, tell.” She paused. “Wait, we _are_ talking about Jean, right?”

Marco snorted. “Yeah. And I’m always adorable, for a start.” They hesitated, smile slowly fading, glancing down at their hands as they formulated their words carefully. “I don’t know, he’s just… different, you know?” They sighed and rolled their eyes at their own cliché, frowning as the right words eluded them. “I don’t really mean it like that. He interested me from the beginning, I guess?  I mean, it’s not often you break up a fight and then have lunch with one of the instigators.”

Sasha nodded, and Marco opened their mouth to continue, only to be stopped by an upheld hand. “Wait, we’re breaking tradition.” Sasha ignored Marco’s quizzical expression as she delved inside her handbag, rummaging around in its cavernous depths for a minute before pulling out a small bottle of nail polish with a triumphant noise. Marco’s eyebrows rose at the sight, and they chuckled. “Really, Sasha? _Here?_ We’re going to be eating in a minute.” Sasha just shrugged obstinately at Marco in response, grabbing hold of their right hand and hauling it towards her. “Like I said, tradition.”

Marco submitted with an affectionate sigh, resolving to eat with one hand if necessity demanded it. She was right, they recalled; in the midst of their first year, when Marco was at their worst, Sasha was one of the few who came round tirelessly, of her own volition more often than not. Somehow innately understanding that Marco wouldn’t want to talk, she’d rapidly started bringing a variety of garish nail polishes, ostentatiously insisting that the bright colours would help to cheer Marco up, implicitly offering them a brief distraction from the dark clouds that plagued their mind while she chatted about inconsequential things and painted their nails like neither of them had a care in the world. For months afterwards, when either one of them was feeling down, they resumed their old method without a hitch.

Marco smiled fondly at their friend, watching as she laid their hand flat against the surface and squinted in fierce concentration, wielding the tiny brush like a weapon, until she flapped her free hand at them impatiently. “Ok, you can continue.”

Marco pulled a face at Sasha’s imperious tone. “Thanks, I guess.” They chewed at the inside of their lip, brow slightly drawn as they mulled over their thoughts. “It was pretty much just an aesthetic thing at first, I mean, he’s really hot.” It was just a plain statement of fact, and Sasha nodded agreeably. Jean was _sharp_ ; narrow, feral features and almost animalistic expressions, where Marco was softer, more gentle both in nature and looks. Marco would be a blatant liar if they said they weren’t affected by the contrast; they could feel heat pooling in their groin just at the memories of the hard planes of Jean’s body beneath his moderately tight clothes, the sharp lines of his prominent collarbones, what his body would feel like pressed against Marco’s own. _Would it hurt?_

Sasha cleared her throat loudly, looking at Marco with more than a hint of humour, and Marco’s cheeks reddened again. _Busted_. They looked down at their lap, more than a little flustered, before continuing purposefully. “ _Anyway_. It’s not just about that anymore. I could feel it growing, y’know, when we were talking last night.”

Sasha outright snorted at that, stopping her ministrations for a second to cackle wickedly. Marco shoved her, drying nail polish be damned, blushing furiously as they hissed, “Not like _that_ , you _total pervert_!” Sasha took a moment to stop herself giggling, pressing her hand to her mouth to limit the dubious looks they were receiving from the other patrons of the café.

“My _feelings_ growing, you incorrigible reprobate, _ugh_.” Marco tried to regain their dignity, head held high as they steadfastly looked at anything that wasn’t Sasha, still struggling to get herself under control. “He was just… I dunno, it wasn’t one of those perfect movie encounters or anything. It was kind of awkward, and I wasn’t feeling that great at first, you know, with the…” Marco gestured expressively with their hands, not particularly wanting to mention the incident that had led to them sitting outside with Jean in the first place. At Sasha’s understanding nod, they went on. “But at the same time, it kind of _was_ that perfect.” Marco twined their hands together beneath the table, feeling awkward and jittery, an unpleasant reminder of pubescent teenage years. “He brought me his scarf, you know? I fucking smelled it, Sasha, after he’d left, like some kind of complete weirdo…” Marco scoffed at themself, not daring to look up at whatever expression was on Sasha’s face at that particular revelation. “It’s just. He didn’t tiptoe around what happened. He wasn’t scared to ask me stuff. Most people just feel awkward about it, so they act like it doesn’t exist.”

Sasha smiled understandingly, tipping Marco’s head up with a soft hand so she could look into their eyes when she spoke. “I’m glad for you, Marco, that sounds really great.” Her tone was uncharacteristically sincere. “It’s nice to see you trying to let people in, you know? And it’s not fair that you should have to be more careful than most people with stuff like that, it really isn’t, and I know that, but I’m gonna tell you to be careful anyway.” She moved her hand away from Marco’s face, dropping it down to her own lap. “Because I love you a lot, and you’re a romantic, and I don’t want you getting hurt by assholes.”

Marco smiled, just barely. Sasha’s words had inspired a peculiar melancholy in their chest, and they crossed their arms around themself as if to try and halt the feeling before it became all-consuming. “Yeah, I get it. He’s probably straight, anyway. He said something about liking a girl once, I remember.” Their words came out sounding a little self-pitying, a little mulish, and they winced to hear it in their own voice. Sasha evidently did too, reaching out to swat Marco’s leg, a slight frown marring her cute features. “Hey, you know better than most people, don’t just assume everyone’s a hetero. The world doesn’t _actually_ work like that, especially when you’re just looking for a defence to justify being afraid to pursue something.”

Marco’s shoulders slumped; they always felt a little defeated when Sasha demonstrated just how easily she was able to see through them. Just then, their food arrived, and Marco took advantage of that fact to ponder over their thoughts in silence, knowing Sasha’s hunger would undoubtedly take temporary priority over the conversation.

They were largely quiet while they ate, both Marco and Sasha implicitly understanding that while some things may still need to be said, pushing everything at once would only end badly. Eventually, her plate cleared, Sasha put down her fork, and turned to Marco. “So, what are you going to do now?”

Marco shrugged, expression vague. “Talk to him more, I guess. Find a way of staying in contact. Small steps, yeah? And,” they hesitated slightly, “I think I’d still want to be his friend, even if it doesn’t quite pan out the way I want it to. So I’d like to start with that, so we have something to fall back on, you know, just in case things don’t work out romantically.”

“Good idea.” Sasha smiled approvingly, contagiously, and Marco felt themself smile a little in return. Seeing it seemed to perk Sasha up, and she grabbed for Marco’s hand again. “Right, come on, we need to finish your nails…”

*****

On the way into university the following Monday, Marco was pleased to find that the aggressively non-subtle lavender colour adorning their fingernails was doing wonders for their self-confidence. Every time they glanced down at their hands, they were forcibly reminded of Sasha’s words of encouragement, and they made a note to text and thank her as they hurried to their lecture.  

They had spent the previous day lazing around with Reiner, crawling into the same bed to watch shitty movies under Marco’s duvet, and pointedly not speaking of anything romantic. Marco had been glad to cast all complex thoughts from their mind for a couple of hours, and they strongly suspected Reiner had felt the same. As a result, they felt rejuvenated and cheerful upon waking up the next morning, and dragging themself out of bed to face the day’s lectures had taken much less effort than they were accustomed to.

Locating Jean was surprisingly easy. Marco’s lecture finished at midday, and they headed towards the cafeteria to pick up some lunch. They weren’t expecting to bump into Jean there; after all, lectures were scheduled throughout the day with no set break for lunch, and surely meeting him there by chance twice in a week would be unlikely. And yet, when Marco pushed open the door – _the same door by which they’d first met Jean, and_ damn _they had it bad if thoughts that trivial were making butterflies flutter in their stomach_ – there he was, sitting at a table nearby with a fey blond boy Marco recognised from one of their modules.

With a silent prayer of thanks to whichever deity was paying attention that day, Marco grabbed some food and wandered over, using their free hand to unwind the scarf around their neck. Fortunately, they’d had the presence of mind to pick up their own scarf that morning, instead of the one Jean had left, although they cringed a little remembering how they’d purposefully left Jean’s on their bed instead of bringing it with them to give back.

“Hey, Armin, Jean, do you mind if I sit with you?” Marco was glad Jean wasn’t sitting with strangers, grateful for the excuse to join them, and they approached with a sunny smile, trying not to let their eyes linger on Jean, who was sprawling back in his seat as though he had an aversion to sitting with his legs closed.

“Sure!” Armin smiled back, the expression lighting up his already angelic features, and shifted to his left, allowing Marco room to sit down. “I didn’t know you two knew each other?”

Marco sat, dropping their scant belongings at their feet carelessly, and grinned. “Yeah, we haven’t for long. I stopped him from punching some kid last week.”

Jean scowled, but Armin spoke up before he could say anything. “Jean! Were you fighting Eren again?” His tone was disapproving, his eyebrows drawing together to form an expression that somehow managed to simultaneously convey both intense irritation and weary concern.

“He started it,” Jean mumbled, looking down at his food evasively.

Armin sighed heavily, and turned to Marco. “They’ve been fighting for years, it’s getting a little bit old now.”

“I heard as much.” Marco smiled at the way Jean’s cheeks were growing progressively redder, then cast an inquisitive glance in Armin’s direction. “I take it you know each other from before university, then?”

“Oh, yeah. Me, Jean, Eren and Mikasa all grew up in the same village.”

“Mikasa?” Marco raised a polite eyebrow at the unfamiliar name, noticing Jean squirming awkwardly out of the corner of their eye.

Armin looked faintly surprised. “Oh, sorry, I assumed Jean would have mentioned her. She’s Eren’s sister. Usually the reason those two idiots are fighting.” His tone became emphatically more pointed with the last words, and from Jean’s corresponding wince Marco deduced that Armin had kicked him beneath the table. “Strange, considering she’s _more than capable of dealing with her own problems_.”

Marco smiled, a tad uneasily. Armin’s words carried an uncomfortable weight of familiarity, and Marco shifted against the vague displaced feeling of impending dread one gets when one knows something is significant, but can’t quite place how.

It didn’t take long for Jean’s words the first day they met to swim back to the forefront of their memory, and they nodded slowly in recognition. _He’s hated me ever since I hit on his sister this one time_. Jean had made it sound like a long-ago occurrence, a childish mistake, brushing it off effortlessly. _Perhaps not, though_.

Marco kept a neutral expression, although Jean’s tellingly flustered blush at the mention of Mikasa was doing little to assuage the heavy ball of disappointment settling in the pit of their stomach. They opened their mouth to speak, despite not fully knowing what they were about to say, but Armin, perhaps fortunately, interrupted. “Speaking of…”

Marco glanced upwards, not missing the way Jean shot upright in his seat and looked around nervously. Sure enough, two people were heading towards their table, and Marco recognised the boy Jean had been fighting with the other day, as well as the dark-haired girl by his side. _She had been there too_ , Marco noted, vaguely recalling the frowning girl who’d pushed Eren out of the door while Marco had been preoccupied in talking Jean down. 

Eren and Mikasa looked alike, but as Marco examined them, the realisation gradually dawned that it had more to do with a peculiar charisma they shared rather than the particular set of their features. Eren was below average height, but walked with a determined set to his shoulders that somehow made him seem larger than he was. His eyes were big, an arresting shade of green, and piercing – _not unlike Jean’s,_ Marco thought– but seemed perpetually narrowed, his eyebrows furrowing in a certain way that rendered him somewhat intimidating to look at. Mikasa, also, was mildly daunting, but not purposefully, like Eren or Annie. She was pretty, her eyes and hair opaquely dark, and seemed detached, surveying the world in an almost scientific manner, as though it existed solely for her to observe. Still, Marco smiled as they approached, friendly to a fault.

Eren sat first, slinging an arm around Armin casually as he dropped into the seat with a noncommittal greeting. Mikasa slid in next to him silently, ignoring the empty seat next to Jean, and Marco shot him a subtle glance, scoping out his reaction. They weren’t quite sure how to parse what they saw; Jean seemed largely unperturbed, fiddling with his fork absent-mindedly, but remained uncharacteristically quiet.

“Oh, Eren, Mikasa, this is Marco. They’re in one of my English classes.” Armin seemed to remember his manners, leaning back and gesturing between his friends as he introduced them.

Eren looked up curiously, seeming for the first time to register Marco’s presence. “Hey there. I’m Eren.” He smiled, somewhat distractedly, then paused. “Wait, do I know you from somewhere?”

Marco hesitated with an apologetic smile. “Um… Yeah, you might have seen me last week. I, uh. Interrupted an argument you were having.”

Eren reddened a little, a brief scowl descending over his already obstinate features as he darted a look at Jean. “Oh. Well, thanks for that, I guess.”

“No worries.” Marco shrugged easily, smiling at Mikasa, who was watching the conversation with a hint of interest in her dark eyes. “I made a friend out of it, so I can’t say it was a problem.” They aimed their last remark at Jean, a little laugh escaping them when Jean jerked upright with a surprised expression on his face.

“You say that now, just wait till you get to know him better. He’s a pain in the ass.” Eren smirked mockingly at Jean, ducking with a muffled scoff when Jean threw a spoon at him in response. Both Armin and Mikasa sighed exasperatedly, but Marco couldn’t quite suppress a grin, finding Jean’s sulky frown to be more endearing than off-putting. _Crush goggles_ , Reiner would have called it.

Marco’s breath was almost taken away when Jean stared back at them, with his mouth pursed in a slight pout and a look of betrayal in his eyes, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. “See what I have to put up with? _Bullying_ , that’s what it is.”

 _God give me strength_. Marco just about mustered a sympathetic smile, heart beating erratically in their chest to have Jean looking at them like that, feeling pinned in place by his gaze. It was on the verge of becoming awkward when Armin said their name, and Marco breathed a quiet sigh of relief, grateful for the excuse to look away.

“Did you do the reading for Erwin’s seminar? I did, but I got stuck on a couple of sections…” Marco let themself be distracted by Armin’s nervous babbling, offering vague reassurances whenever the boy paused for breath, but a small part of them still remained focused on Jean where he was sitting on the opposite side of the table, feeling irrevocably drawn to him, their attraction exerting a pull on them like some strange magnetic force.

Lunch continued much like that for another ten minutes or so, with Jean and Eren occasionally sniping at one another, Mikasa remaining mostly silent, and Armin and Marco talking, while Marco tried not to look at Jean too much for fear of their hopeless crush becoming obvious to the rest of the table. Marco was simultaneously relieved and disappointed when they eventually checked the time and realised they had to leave in order to make their next lecture, standing up and bidding the other students an amicable goodbye.

They were surprised, however, when Jean got to his feet too, pushing his empty plate away and swinging his bag over his shoulder. “Hey, wait for me. I’ll come with you, I’ve got a class too.”

Marco paused, trying to look casual as Jean came up next to them. “Yeah, sure, what direction are you going in?”

“Library.” Jean’s reply was curt, and he strolled forward without hesitation, leaving Marco to follow hastily. “Sorry, I just don’t want to hang around with Jaeger anymore, he gets on my nerves.”

“No shit, I’d never have guessed.” Marco couldn’t keep the teasing sarcasm from their tone, smiling sweetly when Jean turned to glare at them and deadpanned, “Ha, you’re funny.”

It was nice to be left alone with Jean, and Marco felt their heart soar as they pushed the door open and walked out into the chilly afternoon, intent on savouring the few minutes it would take for them to reach their respective destinations.

“Marco, about what Armin said…” Marco looked up, startled by the seriousness of Jean’s tone, and found Jean looking back at them with an earnest sincerity in his eyes. “I’m not actually a total creep, you know. With Mikasa. It’s just… complicated. But I can assure you that my intentions are good.”

Marco struggled to keep their smile at full wattage, Jean’s words striking right at the heart of their pitiful crush. “Ok…? Why are you telling me?”

Jean shrugged, obviously more than a little embarrassed. “I dunno. I just didn’t like the way Arlert acted like I was being weird about it. Not my fault Eren gets pissy over Mikasa’s business.”

Marco made a small noise in response, hoping it at least sounded supportive. It was the best they could manage, not wanting to speak until they trusted themself to be able to fully mask their disappointment.

Evidently taking stock of Marco’s silence, Jean bowed his head with a nervous smile. “Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to make it awkward.” He huffed a self-conscious laugh, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Touchy subject, I guess.”

“It’s ok.” Marco stared down at their feet, contemplating the crunch of their shoes against the dead leaves that littered the pavement, the first herald of autumn.

They were silent for a minute, finding it hard to dispel the heavy tension that had settled over them, until the library came into view and Jean stopped in his tracks, halting Marco by grabbing onto the sleeve of their sweater. “Wait, I should probably give you my number. You know, if we’re friends. I doubt we’ll be able to rely on bumping into each other on campus.”

Marco’s heart sped up yet again, and they rolled their eyes internally at the strength of their reactions to Jean. They weren’t sure if it was the casual touch, Jean offering his phone number, or the slightly lopsided smile on his face when they made eye contact, but it took all of Marco’s resolve not to melt into a lovelorn puddle at his feet. _Jesus Christ_.

“Yeah, sure, um…” Marco turned away, reaching into their bag for their phone, hoping their blush wasn’t as visible as they feared it would be. They exchanged numbers, and then Jean walked off with a parting wave and a short smile, leaving Marco standing stock still on the pavement and watching Jean’s departing back. _Yeah, well, whatever, he looked good from behind_.

Marco knew their blush wouldn’t be abating any time soon as they chided themselves for the less than pure thought.

It took them a minute more to realise that, in order to spend more time with Jean, they’d walked in completely the opposite direction from where they needed to be. They set off with a groan, thinking sadly of their as-of-yet unblemished punctuality record, remembering to text Sasha as they went.

**Marco: Heterosexuality still unconfirmed, but he definitely likes a girl.**

The response, when it came, was concise, but nonetheless accurate.

**Sasha: Shit.**

*****

“She’s not interested, though, right?” Reiner was sitting on the sofa, sprawled across Bertholdt’s lap, staring eagerly up at Marco. Connie and Sasha were there too, peering up from the floor, and Marco rolled their eyes disbelievingly. They had returned from their lecture to find their friends congregated in the living-room, there on some flimsy pretence, undoubtedly as an attempt to conceal their blatant curiosity over Marco’s failing attempts at romance.

“No. I don’t think so, anyway. She didn’t seem into him at all.”

“He’s still fair game then.” Bertholdt shrugged, and Connie nodded in agreement. “Yeah, if this crush is a long-time thing, and she’s never acted on it, chances are she isn’t going to. He’s basically yours for the taking.”

Marco closed their eyes briefly, feeling a headache coming on. If they rolled their eyes any harder they were pretty sure they were going to do themself an injury. “Guys, I think you’re ignoring the part where _he has a crush on someone else_. And maybe the whole thing about whether he’d actually like someone who isn’t, you know. Female. No one’s being _taken_ anywhere.”

Sasha waved a hand dismissively. “We can deal with all that. And he’d be a fool if he didn’t want you, Marco.”

“Yeah, try telling him that, let me know how it goes. Pretty sure that’s not how sexuality works.” Marco flopped down into their usual chair with a tired sigh. “I dunno. He gave me his number though, that’s a good sign, right?”

“He gave you his number?” Reiner’s eyes took on a gleeful glint, and Marco groaned.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking of doing, _no_.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” Reiner’s eyes widened in mock-outrage, and he pushed himself halfway out of Bertholdt’s lap, ignoring his boyfriend’s wince as he propped himself up on his bony elbows and leant his full weight against Bertholdt’s thigh. “But if I were to mention that Annie’s a film student, and they’re doing a Lord of the Rings marathon in the auditorium tonight, and we were all planning on going because she’ll turn a blind eye if we bring alcohol…” He trailed off, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Marco was quiet for a short second. “Ok, that’s not actually a terrible idea.”

“See, you have no faith in me.”

“And when you say ‘all’ you mean…?”

“The four of us, Ymir and Christa. You can invite whoever you like.”

Marco sighed, turning their phone over and over in their fine-boned hands. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

This time, it was Bertholdt who spoke up. “Well, you’d better make your mind up quickly, it’s nearly 5 o’clock now and it starts at 7.”

Marco groaned and squeezed their eyes shut. “And it’s all three films? We’re going to feel like _ass_ tomorrow if we do this.” When this was met with no response, they wearily cracked their eyes open again. All four of their friends were staring at them with matching unimpressed expressions on their faces.

When Sasha finally spoke, her voice was slow, as though she were talking to a small child. “Marco, that’s kind of the point of university.”

Marco snorted and dropped back against the cushions. “Think you’ve got that a bit backwards, Sash.”

“Whatever. Text him.”

“You’re not going to let it drop, are you?”

“Nope.” This time, the response came from all directions at once.

“…Fuckers. I hate you all.”

*****

**Marco: Hey, this is probably weird, but are you free tonight?**

Marco was lying on their bed, having barricaded themself away from the hyenas in the other room. Their palms were unpleasantly sweaty, and they kept shooting nervous glances at their phone, feeling irrationally nervous that they wouldn’t hear Jean’s reply when it came. _If he replied at all_.

With a groan, they rolled over onto their front, burying their face in their pillow. They felt like their blush must surely extend all the way down their body, they were so nervous. They heard a burst of laughter from the living room and burrowed further into their sheets, attempting to telepathically broadcast evil thoughts at their friends for having convinced them to text Jean. _Why, why, why…_

Marco's monotonous self-flagellation was interrupted by the familiar buzz next to their right hand. Immediately, all of their nerves stood to attention, jangling as though they’d been electrified, and Marco brought their phone up to squint an eye at it, the heavy pounding of their heart marking the seconds that elapsed as they tried to muster the courage to read the text.

Finally, with a muttered “Fuck it,” they swiped at the screen, breathing deeply before focusing their eyes on the solitary line of writing.

**Jean: depends. what do you want me for?**

Marco’s mind immediately threw up a number of potential responses to that question, none appropriate for the conversation at hand.

**Marco: There’s a showing of the lord of the rings films in the uni auditorium tonight at 7, I’m going with my friends. Just wondered if you were interested. You can bring more people if you like?**

Marco exhaled shakily, hoping their reply didn’t sound too much like a clumsy pass. Jean’s reply, this time, took longer to come.

**Jean: yeah ok, i can meet you there. i’m not bringing anyone though, like fuck am i spending another evening with jaeger.**

Marco laughed, still somewhat nervous, but feeling as though a large weight had been lifted from their chest. _And_ , whispered their insistent inner voice, _more than a little relieved that Jean wouldn’t be bringing Mikasa._

Marco had nothing against Mikasa. They’d probably get on well, if they ever got the chance to talk properly; indeed, Marco looked forward to a situation in which they were able to, always happy at the prospect of new friendships. Still, they’d rather not watch while Jean pined over her, particularly in the appealingly seductive atmosphere of a dark room full of alcohol. Especially not when Marco was likely to spend the night doing the same thing over Jean.

With a sigh, Marco pushed themself out of bed, sparing a quick glance in the mirror propped on top of their bedside table and wincing to see the pronounced blush that still lit up their features. They rose to their feet, straightening out their rumpled clothes and heading to the bathroom to splash cold water over their face, before wandering back through to the living room.

“Hey, guys. Jean’s coming.” They tried to keep their voice neutral, but an irrepressible smile broke through anyway, growing fractionally wider at the eruption of cheers from their friends until they had to look away embarrassedly.

“Ok, we need to make you look hot.” Sasha shot to her feet with an excited grin, skidding to a halt inches from Marco’s chest. “Um. Not that you don’t anyway!”

Marco rolled their eyes good-naturedly, allowing Sasha to drag them back to the bedroom to rifle through their wardrobe.

When they emerged, some time later, Marco was dressed to Sasha’s satisfaction, in a simple pain of black jeans and a soft green hoodie that – allegedly – complemented their skin tone.

True to form, Reiner wolf-whistled at the sight, snickering childishly at the inevitable flush that bloomed across Marco’s cheeks. “Right, come on, we’ll be late if we don’t leave soon.”

There was the typical scurry for the door as everyone tumbled into coats and shoes, and then they were off, elbowing each other out of the way in the rush to be out first.

It wasn’t far to university, their dorm building having been built a convenient five minute walk from the main campus, and they linked arms on the way, content to be in each other’s presence. The evening was mild, but still on the cold side of comfortable, and Marco shivered, perpetually underdressed for the weather.

Luckily, there was no standing around awkwardly once they arrived at the auditorium. Jean was leaning up against the wall, one leg bent back at the knee to support his weight against it, a cigarette in his mouth as he tapped away at his mobile phone. Marco’s mouth went dry at the sight, and they stumbled slightly over their own feet like every single overused teenaged cliché as they watched Jean’s cheeks hollow around the filter of the cigarette, lips parted just enough to be erotic as he blew out the smoke.

“Jesus, Marco, steady on.” Sasha’s words were teasing in their ear as they approached, and Marco breathed in deeply, trying to calm themself down before they inevitably did something embarrassing.

Jean looked up at that moment, catching Marco’s eye just as he flicked his cigarette away and licked his lips, and Marco forcibly stopped their eyes from tracking the movement of the tip of his tongue, feeling a jolt of arousal deep down inside. “Hey.”

Jean smirked, his customary expression, and pushed off from the wall. “Hey yourself.”

Marco was aware of the uncharacteristic silence emanating from their friends, and waited for Jean to turn away slightly before stepping back, wordlessly but firmly, onto Reiner’s foot. Reiner winced slightly, digging a finger imperceptibly into Marco’s ribs until they squirmed out of reach, then spoke, dispelling the awkwardness slightly. “Hey, let’s go in, I got a text from Ymir to say she saved us seats.”

The group moved into the auditorium, Jean lingering slightly behind Marco to let the others pass in front, and paused briefly to greet Annie by the door. She looked them over, customary bored expression in place, before tilting her head up wordlessly in acknowledgement and beckoning them inside. Marco shivered involuntarily, always vaguely unnerved by her penetrating stare, but continued in, heading instinctively for the long row of seats at the back of the room, where they knew Ymir and Christa would be comfortably ensconced.

There was a slight pause when they all reached their seats, while everyone made sure they’d be sitting next to their partner, and Marco silently thanked their friendship group for being incestuous enough that they were left the chair next to Jean by default. Once seated, they all waited for the lights to dim, not wanting to be caught when they passed around the bottles of vodka they had concealed in their bags. Jean raised an eyebrow at the sight, and Marco’s eyes sparkled with amusement in the darkness as they lifted a finger over their mouth in the universally acknowledged sign for silence.

By some undiscussed agreement, Marco and Jean had ended up sitting at the very end of the row, with two empty seats between them and the rest of the group, and Jean stretched his legs out in front, leaning against the wall on his right side. The seats were narrow; Marco could feel the warmth of Jean’s body over the mere inch that separated them, tantalising, and they had to twine their fingers together to resist the urge to reach over and touch him, to lean fully into that enticing warmth.

They had arrived with little time to spare, and within a minute or so, the familiar music started up, heralding the beginning of the film.

Hearing it, Marco relaxed back into their seat, uncapping the bottle they held discreetly in their lap and taking a quick shot. They flinched at the sharpness as it hit the back of their throat and felt rather than heard Jean’s low laugh, rumbling out from his chest. Marco shook their head, mildly embarrassed, still gasping at the burn as the alcohol descended. When they had recovered, they looked up to find Jean staring at them intently, eyes still somehow piercing and clear even through the darkness, and they swallowed nervously as Jean raised his hand and took the bottle from Marco, fingers brushing against theirs, keeping his eyes on Marco as he lifted the bottle and took a deep drink from it. Unlike Marco, he seemed barely affected, only rolling his shoulders briefly in an aborted shudder, before handing the bottle back with an amused tilt of his head.

It almost seemed like a challenge, and Marco noticed Jean’s eyes flash with _something_ when they drank again, keeping a tighter rein on their reactions this time. They drank their way through most of the bottle like this, something bizarrely intimate about the bobbing of throats and the peculiar, intense eye contact they made whenever the bottle was passed between them. Soon, Marco’s head was spinning pleasantly, and they collapsed back into their seat with a small huff of amusement, having barely paid attention to anything happening on screen. Out of the corner of their eye, they saw Jean replace the cap on the bottle and lean forward to put it out of reach on the floor, and their eyes lazily tracked the line of his back as he moved, the slight hint of skin as his jacket was drawn up with the motion. Marco reacted slowly when Jean sat back, their eyes taking their time to move back up his body, and when they reached his face they noticed that Jean was looking back at them, an unreadable look on the angular planes of his face.

Marco knew that, sober, they’d have been embarrassed at having almost definitely been caught checking him out. As it was, their inhibitions were lowered by the buzz of alcohol thrumming through their veins, and they simply smiled, a slow curling of their lips, before turning their eyes away.

Jean seemed to be sitting closer than he had been earlier, more-loose-limbed, knocking his knee softly against Marco’s as if by accident when he shifted in his seat. Marco suppressed a soft gasp at the contact, the heat of the alcohol seeming to drift lower until it was almost exclusively focused in their groin. They didn’t move, wondering if it would happen again, hoping it would.

Sure enough, within a minute, they felt the gentle press of a knee against their own. Marco jumped slightly, involuntarily, as a tremor ran through them, but Jean’s leg only pushed more insistently, until it was pressed against Marco from knee to hip and Marco was teasingly, deliciously hard in their jeans. Drunk or not, they were unspeakably grateful for the darkness that prevented Jean from being able to see their erection. Then, unable to stop themself, they wondered if Jean was in the same condition, and found themself getting harder at the thought; without meaning to, they shifted their hips up slightly and had to bite down on their lip sharply when the motion caused the harsh material of their jeans to rub tantalisingly over the hard line of their cock.

Almost as if he’d sensed it, Jean’s leg jerked away almost violently, and Marco worried for a brief second, reactions still muted and sluggish, before the heavy warmth of it returned to push against Marco, even more forcefully than it had before. Marco’s head felt blurry, like the room was revolving around them, and their senses were muffled, but even so, they could have sworn they heard a sharp intake of breath next to them before Jean’s hand landed palm down on his own knee, clenching tightly at the fabric of his jeans, the strong line of his forearm only millimetres away from Marco’s thigh.

Gradually, they became aware of the noises around them, and they looked around, squinting slightly to see through the darkness. Reiner and Bertholdt, the nearest to them, were definitely making out; as Marco watched, they could see Bertholdt’s hand move up and underneath Reiner’s shirt. Beyond them, Ymir and Christa were similarly intertwined, and Marco looked away, feeling intrusive. They cast a surreptitious glance at Jean, but he was staring purposefully at the screen, looking for all the world as though he was involved in the action while his leg was pressed up against Marco and his arm only a hair’s width from some very intimate touching.

It seemed like the longest experience of Marco’s life. Barely a word was exchanged between them, even in the gaps between films, but as soon as the lights went out again, it was only ever a matter of minutes before one of them would move slightly, seeking out the warmth of the other with soft, almost imperceptible touches, movements that in the cold light of day could be passed off as inconsequential, the simple result of narrow seats and too much to drink.

It was late, very late, by the time they finally got up to leave. Marco was achingly hard in their jeans, and had been for a while, grateful for the length of their hoodie as they got to their feet and pulled it down over their crotch. Everyone was yawning and making displeased noises as they stretched, and it seemed to all of them like whatever magic had descended over them in the darkness had been broken, reality returning in the harsh glare of the overhead lights and the dissonant bursts of chatter from the people in front.

They wandered slowly to the exit, still mostly silent, yawning widely and stumbling as they tried to reorient themselves in the light. Marco looked at Jean, just once, noting his furrowed brow as he stared down at his feet, then looked away, unsure of what to say. Unsure of what had just happened.

It was completely dark outside, the moon the only source of light as it gleamed impassively above them. Marco stared up at it for a second, tiredness making them unsteady on their feet, until Jean caught their attention by clearing his throat awkwardly.

Marco turned. Jean, for once, looked truly unsure as he stood there, arms wrapped around himself like some meagre form of protection. His expression was confused, unhappy, and he didn’t meet Marco’s eye when he spoke. “Uh, I’m going to go now. I’ll text you, or something.”

Marco raised an eyebrow at the ‘or something,’ but Jean was already turning, pulling his hood up and squaring his shoulders slightly as he walked away.

The rest of the group had gone on ahead to allow Marco some privacy to talk to Jean, but Marco didn’t rush to catch them up, preferring to walk back alone.

This was, without a doubt, the most confusing boner Marco had ever been given.


End file.
